Читать книгу White Lies - Zoe Markham - Страница 12

Chapter One

I saw it as soon as we turned off the motorway. The sun lit up the old building like some kind of celestial spotlight, turning it into something straight off a postcard. The satnav politely suggested that Mum make a U-turn. I couldn’t help thinking it might be on to something: that turning up as the nervous new girl at my fifth school in five years was going to be one more ‘fresh start’ than I could handle. Turning around and heading back in the opposite direction didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Mum disagreed.

“It wants me to go the wrong way down the M40! Turn her off, Abigail. I can see the place from here for goodness’ sake.”

I flicked the power button with a sigh. There was no last-minute reprieve on the horizon – just the sprawling mass of Cotswold Community College: Day and Boarding School, Established 1571. All pale Cotswold stone and leafy oaks and hundreds of kids I didn’t know.

Dad’s voice floated into my head: “There aren’t many state boarding schools around you know, Abs.” I’d heard that a million times down the phone and over Skype all summer long. That and: “You’re lucky to have got a place; this is your chance to really get settled and stay put for a while.” Every time he said it, it was like we’d won the lottery or something. A boarding school that didn’t cost the earth. One the MoD’s ‘Continuity of Education Allowance’ would almost cover.

Mum thumped the horn, tearing me out of my thoughts as a gleaming 4x4 overtook us on the inside and flew straight across the empty roundabout ahead.

“Look at that! Thinks he owns the bloody road,” she shouted, narrowing her eyes and squeezing the accelerator. The sun danced on the back windscreen of the speeding car ahead, winking at us, teasing us. Mum’s fingers tightened around the wheel and her knuckles flashed bright white. I pushed back in my seat and she leaned forward in hers – me trying to hold our ancient Ford Fiesta back and her trying to spur it on.

I watched the speedo as it slowly climbed. 75. 80. 85…

I took a deep breath and felt for the frayed friendship bracelet on my left wrist, running it between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, like I always did when I felt that first icy prickle of panic coming on. Sometimes just the feel of the old thread, knotted together just for me, only me, would be enough to drive my mind away from the places no good ever came of going.

87. 89. 91…

The engine whined desperately in protest. My legs were frozen in place – muscles locked in fear.

Mum’s mouth curled into a determined grimace.

“Isn’t it 60 through here?” My voice cracked. “Mum?”

I rubbed harder at the thread, worried one of these days I’d rub it clean away to nothing. “Mum, please.”

80. 70. 60…

She sighed as the 4x4 disappeared into the distance, and I could breathe again.

When we came to the next roundabout, I recognised the Little Chef and the open playing fields beyond. Rugby posts stood tall and bright, shining sentinels in the Sunday sun. We were almost there. Cars swarmed around us, bursting out of side roads now, flying across the roundabout in a steady stream. The sun sparked across each bonnet in turn, and I lowered my eyes as I tried to blink away the glare.

“Abigail…” Mum’s voice dripped a tired warning. “We’ve been through this…”

“It’s just the sun! I’m not—”

I could see in her face that she didn’t believe me. I could also see the black Volkswagen barrelling towards us as she made her exit, blind, her eyes on me instead of the road.

“Mum!”

She whipped her head back around and wrenched the wheel, swerving out of danger with inches to spare as every muscle in my body braced for the impact that didn’t come. The sound of the VW’s angry horn faded into the distance; my muscles stayed firmly locked. The next turn, sharp and angry as Mum took her frustration out on the kerb, flung us down a narrow lane off the main road, and we jerked to a standstill in the middle of a brightly zigzagged ‘School – No waiting’ zone.

“Here we are then,” Mum said in a voice filled with over-the-top cheer. I slowly let out my breath and rolled my shoulders a couple of times. She didn’t kill the engine. I looked over at her, and followed her gaze out across the wide, empty courtyard to the boarding house beyond. It was smallish, but still proper Sunday night drama material from certain angles. It was an old building, really old, and looked like it was overdue for some repairs here and there, but still it managed to look sort of classically elegant, screaming secret corridors and ancient, dusty books.

The sun ducked behind a cloud, and I felt a fresh burst of anxiety as the picture postcard view briefly turned into something more sinister in the gloom.

Mum gave a little shiver, before ramping the heater up, reaching across me to open the glovebox and rummaging around inside.

“That traffic’ll be worse on the way back, and I still haven’t finished the packing. It’ll be a miracle if I make that flight,” she muttered, scrabbling around madly before yanking her phone out on a wave of empty chocolate wrappers. I braced myself for the inevitable onslaught, but something on the screen caught and diverted her anger, and she started furiously pecking away at it in response.

I patted my pocket, checking for my own phone in case it had somehow slipped out when Mum pulled off her kerb-mounting turn; then I flipped down the sun visor to check my reflection. There were dark shadows under my eyes, my cheeks were puffy, and my too-dark, too-long hair looked lank and greasy. My forehead was too high, my nose was a breeding ground for blackheads, and—

I snapped the visor back up. Not looking was probably better.

I leant over and kissed Mum on the cheek. She kept on tapping and tutting, but threw me an air kiss in return.

“Will you see Dad, do you think? When you—”

“Oh, how many times, Abigail? I don’t know,” she snapped.

I felt my eyes sting; tears threatened, and there was no sun I could blame this time. Instead of shouting at me, her eyes softened and she threw an arm around me, her phone still clutched at the end of it. “I will, I’m sure, but it’s complicated, love. He’s all settled out there, and this is my first time. It’s going to take some getting used to for all of us. I won’t see him right away, and when I do it probably won’t be for long. Just send him an email as soon as you get settled. You know he logs on whenever he can.” She kissed my forehead then ruffled my hair, like I was a toddler. “And give me a ring tonight, OK?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything over the lump rising in my throat.

“Make it late though, love. I’ve no idea what time I’ll get in, and the packing…”

Her voice drifted off, and her arm retracted, all attention reverting back to the phone. I nodded again, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen.

I was stiff from sitting in the car so long, and I felt a hundred years old as I got out – nothing like the fifteen-year-old I was supposed to be. A bubble of guilt burst in my stomach as I pulled my suitcase out of the boot, remembering the two carrier bags hidden carefully inside a sweatshirt at the very bottom. If Mum had found them, well, I didn’t know if I’d even be here. I looked at the case for a second, sitting there on the pavement, full of secrets, and wondered if that would’ve been a good thing or a bad.

I slammed the boot shut, and Mum flung the car around in the road, startling me out of my thoughts. Her window came down. She’d put her big sunglasses on, the ones that made her look like an enormous wasp, and the phone was still clutched in her left hand.

“You’ll be fine, Abigail,” she said over the noise of the engine. “This place will do you the world of good.”

“Yeah. I know,” I lied. I was terrified. “Drive safe, Mum. And…”

She nodded, and smiled, but I couldn’t see if it reached her eyes.

It wasn’t like we hadn’t done this before. Goodbyes were nothing new. This time though, it felt different. Saying goodbye to both of them, to Beth, to home – it was goodbye all round. Suddenly that felt huge. Suddenly I felt more lost than ever.

And then down went the foot: Mum’s ‘legendary lead foot’ Dad used to call it. It was crazy, how hard some habits died. You’d think after what had happened…

I reached for the bracelet.

She turned back out onto the main road, one hand waving out the window, presumably steering with her knees as she pecked away at her phone with the other.

“Right then,” I muttered to myself. “I’ll be fine.”

Hey, it’s only boarding school, Abs! Beth’s voice rang out as clear as a bell in my mind. Stop with the self-pity. Mum’s the one heading off to a war zone, not you. Get a grip!

Beth’s world class when it comes to brutal honesty, and has never had any concept of tact. Everyone needs a friend like that in their lives. Mine just happens to be my big sister. She’s like a jellyfish sometimes, stinging you once, twice, or even three times before you realise it; but she’s usually right on the money. Sometimes you needed a sting to make you get up and out of the water.

I wrestled up the handle of my case, got a grip, and dragged it into line behind me.

**

My footsteps rang loudly on the stone as I walked across the courtyard – an unpleasant, auditory reminder that I should have made more of an effort to diet over the summer. Or, actually, any kind of effort. The start of the school year had always felt so far away. Until suddenly somehow it’s tomorrow, and here I am. Not ready. So not ready.

The building looked completely deserted, and with the sun refusing to come back out from under its blanket of cloud I was starting to get chills. I was also picking up a cheesy horror film vibe – casting myself in the lead role as the classic, vulnerable teenage girl – abandoned in a secluded spot…

In leafy, upper-class Oxfordshire, where endless old biddies peer through their curtains to check on their Volvos and bedding plants every five minutes…

Beth’s eyebrow lifted in my mind’s eye. And I conceded the point. There was probably nowhere safer. But as I looked up at the heavy oaks circling the courtyard they felt dark and oppressive somehow, like they could close ranks any second and trap me inside.

My heart started to pick up speed, and my fingers reached for the familiar, worn cotton as I fought to remind myself that I wasn’t alone; however much it might feel like it sometimes, I was never alone.